


And They Call It Honeymoon

by hellhoundsprey



Series: ficlet prompts [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Chastity Device, Jealous Dean, M/M, Omega Sam, Possessive Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: How about some alpha!Dean Smith taking care of his sweet, precious omega!Sam Wesson. Possibly during office hours on Smith's desk with Wesson wearing a pretty pink chastity belt because Sam is his and no one else's.<br/>Possessive!dean and chastity belts are my religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Call It Honeymoon

Three quick raps on his locked door and Dean growls which in turn makes Sam moan. He hears his secretary clamber to the already door handle abusing bastard (smells like alpha, too, most probably Henriksen with the Walker report), making up an excuse for what the entire floor must be smelling anyway.

Dean is a valuable manager. They won’t kick him out for this. He’s not the first person working in the same building as his mate and definitely not the first alpha who takes advantage of said handy closeness. And besides, there must be some kind of heat-exception, right? Sam most definitely smells like he’s close to one, at least.

Dean’s mate gets wet easily. The first date was as embarrassing as it was deal-saving, because how couldn’t have Dean completely lost it for this beautiful, clever, darling omega, stammering his firetruck-red head through endless apologies? He has no idea how this is happening, sir, he’s not usually like that, he’s not in heat or anything, so sorry, Mr. Smith. Dean of course assured it was no problem, drove Sam back to his meager little flat he still was sharing with a bunch of siblings and a sick mother, not forcing anything, just giving a feather-light kiss to a cheek and earning utter trust and respect for that. Maybe even more. Sam usually gets too flustered when they talk about these things. They’ve only been mated for half a year. Everything is still so new, magical.

Dean’s mate tastes like Heaven and then some, and he keens prettiest when Dean fucks his cock into him for that first time, that first, knee-buckling slide, and Dean smirks with a hundred percent satisfaction when he groans, “Gotta keep quiet, baby. Can’t let everyone hear you, can we?”

Sam shakes his head, gasps helplessly at the first good thrusts with a nice leverage, arches his back and hunches his shoulders tighter. Strung like a bow, burning up, swallowing Dean whole. Always.

If it’s not Sam’s heat, it could be Dean’s rut. One way or the other, it ends up the same. Dizziness. Urging pressure between legs. Silent cry for one another’s mate. Hormones multiply, pheromones overflow.

Of course, Mr. Smith keeps his omega in chastity even when he’s heat-free. It’s not like Sam couldn’t defend himself (he’s actually untypically massive for an omega) against unwanted attention, which, yeah, occurs despite their bond. And that’s the point. Sam is just _too sweet_. The mere thought of anyone touching what is rightfully Dean’s makes him want to slit throats.

Sam wasn’t a virgin anymore when they bonded, so maybe that’s what fucks with Dean’s head there. Someone was there before. He’ll make sure nobody else after him ever will.

The heavy table scrapes back and forth, tiny inch by inch, and Dean can hear its drawers clattering, sees a pencil rolling and eventually falling, doesn’t matter, grips Sam’s hips tighter and drives in faster, harder, fucks restlessly up against Sam’s cervix already but it’s not enough, never enough.

“Shhh, y’gotta stay quiet, baby, c’mon, shhh.”

“I’m tryin’, I, I’m really, I-“

Bone-deep shivers go through Dean and he squeezes his eyes shut, warns, “Fuck, gonna knot. Gonna knot you, baby, gotta hold on for me, alright?”

Sam whimpers for, “ _Alpha_ ,” and Dean has to clamp a hand over that mouth to lessen the noises Sam can’t hold back with a swelling knot forcing itself quickly in and out of his close to seizing pussy. Dean himself chokes on his breath, locks all muscles when he can’t pull out anymore, when he’s stuck and his knot expands just another unbelievable bit before everything swirls, boils, explodes, and he’s filling his now too climaxing omega.

The process has only just begun when Dean is let loose from mind-erasing pleasure for a short moment, long enough to gasp for air and whistle a thin, “Fffffuck,” before the next wave settles in, sweeps him away, and Sam drools his moans into the cup of his palm.

Twenty minutes of tying and everything is good-empty. Sweaty but refreshed, definitely relaxed, Mr. Smith swats his omega’s ass, chuckles over the scandalized gasp and glare over a shoulder, the still wet shine spreading everywhere down to the back of his thighs.

Tsking, pout, shake of head. “Baby, you can’t go out like this.”

“You’re so funny,” grunts Sam, and Dean knows he is watching him picking up the chastity belt from the floor where he threw it earlier, where both of their pants are, too. “God, fuck.” Still slightly unsteady hands through long, brown hair. “I’m gonna smell like sex all day. We can’t keep doing this.”

Sliding four of his fingers along the slick crease of Sam’s ass, the belt in the other hand, Dean feels so good. So in power. All his. “Why? Someone has an eye out for you down in tech support?”

“No,” Sam says immediately, maybe too quickly, but Dean will look into that later. “I just don’t… You shouldn’t knot me at work. That’s all.”

“I truly appreciate your professionalism, Mr. Wesson,” smiles Dean.

The thick, pink plug easily slides where Dean’s cock was not so long ago, and Sam hums softly. Dean is careful, always is. When the toy is settled deep, Dean untangles the attached to it belt straps, buckles them around his omega’s thighs, his hips. Rather slim. Once Sam conceives though, that will most likely change.

Could be this load that does it. Could be the next. They are not exactly trying, but Dean has a good feeling about it happening soon. What he does know for sure though, is that it is going to be _his_ litter. He’s making sure of that by locking the belt in the front, pocketing the key.

Ah. Sweet satisfaction.


End file.
